The Beginning of the Second Week

It’s the beginning of the second week, and every day here still seems to reveal something new here. Technically, it is still orientation for another week, meaning all of us are still newbies . Although each day, the familiarity of the city grows and even though street signs do not really exist in India, or at least Pune, you begin to tell which part of the city you are in based upon the recognizable signs, the colorful displays and unique street vendors. It’s still possible to go to some areas of the city and feel like you are in a completely foreign city, which happens to be the case when because acclimation is a slow process.
As the familiarity of the Pune develops, the real eye-opening happens in the once you depart from the city limits and venture off into the countryside. This past weekend I had the opportunity upon the insistence of my host family to join them on an excursion to a couple Hindu temples, which I was reluctant to at first but at the end of day, was more than eager and humbled that I did join them. The expressways surrounding the city are not as congested but just as full of erratic drivers as the crowded streets. It took a while to venture out of the density and sprawl of the city, even more astounding when you consider that vastness of the city itself. After about an hour or so of driving, I started to see an actual change of scenery: gaps existed between the buildings, actual green space as you ventured into more and more of the countryside.
As we continued to drive, the urban sprawl of Pune became nothing more than scattered high-rises and buildings on the horizon. The lusciousness and greenery of the Ghats, the mountain range circling the city limits, replaced it. The varying hues of green, the variation in shrubbery and trees, all of it indicated the previous beauty that was erased with the technological advances, consumerism and constant construction of the growing city behind you. Seeing the Ghats from the car window, I was reminded of pictures of the Andes that I have seen in history books, full of high plateaus and green moss covering the jagged rock face.
The first temple that my family took me to was in a smaller, rural village. Contrary to the 6-lane roads that exist in Pune, the main thoroughfare in this town was barely narrow enough for two compact cars to fit through. There was only one market, and down the road from the market, was the open-air Hindu temple that dated from the early 1800s. The structure itself was not that impressive, though it did have aged, carved woodwork that showed the age and importance of the temple. For a Saturday, it attracted large crowds with lines almost out the door, and I was an obvious outsider. Maharashtra, like most states in Indian, which is a country where the majority of the population is Hindu, allows non-Hindus in temples. Still, as both an outsider and American, I felt some apprehension and qualms about entering the actual shrine site, but upon the insistence on my host family I entered. Within in the temple, a group of several people sat huddled on the marble floor, rocking back and forth, in silent pray to the Nandi, the worshiped bull of Shiva and Parvati. It was a humbling experience and again as an outsider, a ceremony that I was impeded upon so as I observed I quickly exited the temple.
The drive to the second temple was a further adventure into the countryside of Maharashtra. As our car turned off on a desolate, gravel road, we drove through many habitations and collectives with no permanent buildings but homes crafted from sheet-metal and tarps with so low of population, it may not fall under the definition of village. We continued to drive on and on, being the only car for kilometers it seemed like, besides the carts, goat farmers, and many bicyclists. At least five times, my host father asked someone on the side of the road if this was the correct way to the temple, and all of them had the same hand motion, indicating just drive further down the road. I wondered if we would ever reach this elusive temple, but my doubts were unfounded because after an hour or so of driving we reached the temple at the base of a mountain, known by the name of Mt. Heaven. The location was truly awe-inspiring, the varied greens set against the overcast skies created an interesting contrast. Looking in one direction, you were humbled by the imposing size of the Ghats before you and the urban sprawl of Pune behind you.
Mt. Heaven’s Temple was situated on its own pond, as if it was it elusive island rising out of the fog and greenery. Seeing the vibrancy and plethora of colors of the temple, the rich hues of red and pink, the temple depicted all the gods and gurus of Hindu mythology. According to my host cousin, I might be the first American ever to have visited the temple, which considering the breadth and history of travel that Americans have had, I somewhat doubted. Regardless of the accuracy of the claim, there was knowledge that for some of the very young kids in the villages we drove through, my skin was the first whiteness that they probably have encountered ever in their young lives. That fact, that in some areas of the world, there can still be new encounters was truly a profound and humbling effect.